


In Which The Vet Goes To Starscream

by fascinationex



Series: the TF Equestrian AU [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Equestrian, Equestrian, Gen, Horses, Humanformers, horseformers, in which Starscream gives Megatron a heart attack, technically a sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27653114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fascinationex/pseuds/fascinationex
Summary: Starscream comes right up to the fence and lets Megatron clip a lead line to his halter without protest, which is how Megatron knows something is not right.In which Starscream gets sick.
Relationships: Megatron & Starscream (Transformers)
Series: the TF Equestrian AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941025
Comments: 19
Kudos: 100





	In Which The Vet Goes To Starscream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neveralarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/gifts).



> \- fictional horse content only  
> \- occurs before the first story 'a horse named Starscream' but relies on general setting information from that story  
> \- irresponsible veterinary medicine bc i am not a vet  
> \- HIGH-key blaming neveralarch this time

Of an evening, Megatron walks up to the paddock to bring the horses in.

Today, sunset is late but the air smells like an oncoming rainstorm. The light hasn't quite gone, bathing everything a peculiar dusty yellow through the clouds. His footsteps crunch quietly, and the clip of his lead line clinks gently against his knee as he walks.

This evening Starscream walks slowly right up to the fence and lets Megatron clip a lead line to his halter without protest, which is how Megatron knows something is not right.

A gut deep unease begins right then, and it only grows when Starscream follows quietly as Megatron leads him in. He carries his head too low and seems completely disinterested in making Megatron's life any harder than it has to be, which is violently out of character.

With a wary glance, Megatron puts him up in his stall and heads back to fetch Thundercracker, which is usually the easier task. Today he thinks it's about the same, which seems worrying.

Whatever is the matter with Starscream doesn't seem to be affecting Thundercracker at all. He is his usual alert, obedient self, and seems enthused about the prospect of being in his cozy stall when the air smells so overwhelmingly of rain.

Megatron brushes them down, taking the opportunity to check hooves and legs and run his hands over all the long planes of their big bodies, checking for anything new.

He starts with Thundercracker, who gives him no indication that anything is wrong. He stands still as a painting for the process and lifts his hooves when asked. 

He can hear Starscream shifting around as he works, though, and when he goes to see him, he finds him lying down in his stall. 

He grunts wearily and gets up when he sees Megatron standing there with a curry comb, heaving all his heavy weight of muscle and bone back to his hooves. 

Watching this, the uneasy feeling expands.

It's not true that horses _always_ sleep on their hooves. But mostly they do. And Starscream doesn't usually come back to his stall at this time of night and immediately fall asleep, either. They have a routine. This isn't part of it. 

"Come on," Megatron says gruffly, coming in once Starscream's back on his hooves.

Grooming is the one thing for which it was very easy to teach Starsream to mind his manners, despite his short history of indifferent (and exasperated) owners and his long list of vices. He's always a model citizen when he's being made clean and pretty.

He doesn't find anything on Starscream of them that stands out, any more than he did on Thundercracker. There are no bumps, bruises, distentions, cuts or strange warm spots. 

But he's still acting strangely.

He brings him out into the light drizzle and the dimming light of dusk and takes him in a circle around the stable yard at a walk and then at a quick trot, but he can't spot any signs of lameness. 

That's almost more worrying. 

Hoof and leg problems are terrible, but they are at least problems he can recognise. He knows as well as anyone how to keep a lame horse on stall rest until he can be seen by a vet.

Starscream sighs deeply at the end of his little run and noses Megatron in the arm. He doesn't even try to nibble. 

"What's the matter with you?" Megatron wonders. Starscream huffs softly at him, and he rubs Starscream's neck.

Under the coarse, dark trailing hair of his mane, Megatron feels his warm neck damp with sweat.

He can feel his face knitting into an unhappy expression. Cradled in the cage of his ribs, Megatron's heart beats steadily harder. 

Starscream regularly competes. He shouldn't be sweating from a trot around the stable yard.

The interior of the building is dry and better lit. Starscream tries to lay down again as soon as he's let back into his stall.

Megatron has never once tried to teach Starscream a command for, "No, no, come on, get up," and he knows his horse can't possibly understand. But he gets up again on his own after only a few minutes and shifts around restlessly on his hooves, like he's trying to rearrange his weight or can't make himself comfortable. This might be convenient right this moment, but it is also... not promising. 

Starscream hates the thermometer violently and so Megatron is careful not to let him see it when he brings it—but it's still almost a relief when he pins his ears and makes a deeply offended noise while Megatron takes his temperature. 

"I know," Megatron says, with as much patience and in as soothing a voice as he can manage through his own anxiety. "I know. It'll be over soon."

Megaton can't bring himself to blame him overmuch. He can't say he'd like having cold instruments shoved in his rectum, either, and a horse can't possibly understand why it might be necessary. 

Among Starscream's many and varied talents is, of course, that he cow kicks under the right circumstances. Tonight, he misses with his hoof, and only manages to swat Megatron in the face with his tail once—which is mostly Megatron's fault for not keeping it under control anyway. 

All this does is remind Megatron that they have infrared thermometers now, and he should buy one. 

He runs a soothing hand over Starscream's neck while he checks the reading, murmuring vaguely to him.

He's running a temperature. It's mild. Mild is good. It's still a fever. A mild fever.

He scowls at the thermometer.

Starscream paws restlessly while Megatron digests this unfortunate fact.

"Stop that," he says, almost automatically, swatting at his shoulder. 

And Starscream _does_ stop that. Very alarming. He leans into Megatron and lets his head sink low. He looks miserable. 

Megatron's stomach twists... which is a metaphor he immediately, _really_ wishes he hadn't thought of at all. He runs his hands over Starscream's belly again, checking for heat or distention or... he doesn't know what. Anything he hasn't already found. 

Starscream noses him, but seems too out of sorts to really play up.

He seems... listless. And he wants to be down, down in the straw, _hopefully_ not to roll around, but... it's so hard to tell.

Megatron ties him and takes his feed away entirely, which Starscream doesn't even seem to notice. Also alarming.

The next step would usually be to go out and examine any feces he could find for evidence of irregular (or worse, absent) bowel movements, but Megatron's not staggering around looking for horse shit with a flashlight in the dark when he has more than one animal—one of whom seems quite well. Shockingly, he hasn't made a study of distinguishing them by their manure.

But with all this back and forth, it's almost ten at night before Megatron concludes he's definitely uncomfortable leaving Starscream like this until morning. There are plenty of conditions that would be fine to take a 'wait and see' approach on. But now he's sure that Starscream is in pain, but not sure what kind—it's not in his legs and doesn't seem to be in his face or ears or anywhere else obvious that Megatron can see—and now Megatron has seen him keep getting up and then laying back down, restless and uncomfortable...

There's something superstitious about how he doesn't even want to think the 'c' word. But if it turns out to be some kind of colic, Megatron will be gutted not to have called a vet immediately.

Abdominal pain in horses isn't like abdominal pain in humans. Horses can't vomit—or, at least, they shouldn't vomit, and generally don't without physically rupturing something vital. The inability to throw up toxins means they're incredibly vulnerable to gastrointestinal problems. An untreated bellyache can easily kill a horse.

He's not very surprised that Ratchet picks up the phone at ten o'clock at night, but he is relieved.

He can hear the rumble of an engine through the speaker. Evidently, the vet is still working. 

Ratchet grunts and hmms through his explanation. He's still forced to prioritise based on the information Megatron can give him. "I'm heading out to a heifer in labour, but it's not that far from your place."

It will be a wait, but large animal vets are not always easy to come by, and people who care for large animals are almost always in rural areas with low population density. There's Ratchet, or there's loading Starscream into a trailer and driving him to a clinic five hours away.

If it looks like he needs surgery, Megatron will do that anyway. But he'd _really_ rather not. 

"Always better to check," Ratchet says eventually, even though he sounds like he very much wishes it wasn't. "Keep him walking in the meantime."

"Does that actually help?" Megatron wonders dubiously.

"The horse?" Ratchet snorts. "Or you?" and then he hangs up. 

At least that spares Megatron from unbending enough to thank him. 

It's been drizzling for a while now, but a few minutes after that phone call the rain begins to hammer down as though the sky is falling. 

Megatron goes back to Starscream, who sighs hugely and miserably, and then raises his head for a moment just to blow air at Megatron's face. Even the star in between his eyes looks somehow duller today. 

"The vet's on his way," Megatron says. Starscream can't understand that. But it makes Megatron feel some kind of way to tell him, and Starscream understands his tone of voice.

Starscream flicks one of his ears towards the sound. 

Megatron rubs his face, and tries not to think too hard about how trusting his big brown eyes seem right now. For all that he's a tremendous brat, he's still _Megatron's_ tremendous brat, and he trusts Megatron take care of him. 

That passive trust feels like it's crushing his chest.

"You're gonna be okay," Megatron tells him, even though he feels tense and upset himself. 

Starscream blinks once, slowly, horribly docile. He whuffs softly at him, sounding somehow thick and sad even in this. 

So Megatron walks Starscream up and down the center aisle of the stable. For hours. There's plenty of lighting there, but it only serves to contrast the darkness outside. 

It seems like it goes on forever, surreal and interminable. Up and down, back and forth like a metronome. Even Thundercracker, safe in his own stall, gets bored of watching them go past. Up and down. Back and forth.

The clank of hooves on the hard floors seems loud even despite the storm, and after a while the rhythm of it feels like it obliterates anything else in Megatron's skull. Starscream lets his head droop and follows one step at a time and doesn't try to lead Megatron or walk through him or _anything_.

Megatron's eyes are scratchy and his neck is knotted and he's exhausted by midnight, which is when he finally hears the crunch of Ratchet's pickup approaching. 

Ratchet has never, on any occasion Megatron has seen him, looked anything but faintly exhausted and as though he has been expected to put up with more shit than he considers reasonable. He has salt and pepper hair, an unavoidable tan, and worn, calloused hands. His eyes are grey, and very sharp. 

Tonight when he appears in the doorway of the stable, he also has a bloodstain on one leg of his trousers, which seems particularly ominous. 

He follows Megatron's gaze and makes a tired and annoyed noise. "These are already my spares," he says flatly.

"Right," Megatron says, very neutral.

He ignores the face Ratchet pulls. 

"Alright, let's see what's the matter with him." 

Starscream knows Ratchet, knows he means uncomfortable examinations and injections, and his approach usually precipitates a lot of ear-pinning and precious dancing around until Megatron takes him by the halter and makes him stand the hell still. Tonight he just swishes his tail and sighs heavily.

Megatron is worried about him, but he won't let himself be lulled into a false sense of security by his attitude. It's possible Starscream might be too miserable to play stupid tricks, but it's not assured. He holds him for the vet and talks to him quietly. 

Ratchet does all the familiar checks: heart rate, respiratory rate, temperature. He pays peculiar attention to his neck and nose and hums quietly when he does so.

Megatron watches Starscream's ears flick nervously as he checks his skin elasticity, listens for weird stomach sounds and generally makes himself a nuisance to the horse—but until they get to the unhappy experience of a rectal examination Starscream is mostly well behaved. 

Then, he stamps and shifts, trying to toss his head even despite the grip on his halter and squealing—Thundercracker calls back, nervously—and there is a moment where Megatron thinks Ratchet's going to refuse to continue without sedating him.

In the end he doesn't. It's a relief to get it over with. Megatron presents the appearance of someone who is steady and rock solid, because that is what the horse needs. But he doesn't know which thought is more nerve-wracking: that Starscream will lose his mind and attack the vet somehow, or that Starscream will lose his mind and damage _himself_ in his panicked thrashing. 

"Well," says Ratchet, finally, peeling off a glove. "It's not an abdominal issue."

Megatron eyes him. "It's not?"

Ratchet makes a derisive noise in his throat. 

"No. I can test for strangles, in case you've caught it particularly early, but he's had all his shots, the presentation isn't typical and he's a bit old for it. On the balance of probabilities... the horse has a _cold_ , Megatron," he finishes, in a tone of great patience. 

"Ah." 

Turns out it's possible to melt with relief and seize with embarrassment at the same time. The more you know.

He clenches his jaw. "Are you sure? He seemed—"

Ratchet sighs. "Come on, here—" He shoves the gloves away and then guides Megatron to feeling out Starscream's throat. Starscream tries to roll his head to see what's going on, and Ratchet clicks his tongue and holds his head steady. "—feel that? Swollen?"

"I suppose?" Megatron pays a lot of attention to Starscream's legs and hooves and general behaviour, but he can't really say he's as familiar with his throat. But he supposes he can feel some minor swellings there, if he's thinking about it.

"Sore throat. He's not interested in his feed because it hurts to swallow. He's sweating because he's got a little fever. And he's restless because he's cranky and in pain and, frankly, a bit of a coward about it. But he is not," he adds, quite forcefully, "in any immediate danger of dying."

Megatron's face doesn't move, but inside he's cringing a little. Relieved. But cringing. 

"...Right," he says.

Ratchet relents almost immediately because he's a much, much softer man than he likes to pretend. 

"Listen, I'd prefer to get a call out for something that's not significant than not get one for something that is significant. Even if it is," he glances at his watch—a heavy duty thing with huge, stark numbers on its face—and blinks slowly and wearily, "after midnight." 

"Right," Megatron repeats himself. 

"He's probably picked it up from another animal at a competition. Keep him away from Thundercracker, just in case he hasn't picked it up yet."

Megatron nods.

"Rest him thoroughly, keep him hydrated. He might do better with softer foods if his throat hurts. But he'll be fine."

Megatron doesn't actually apologise, but it's a near thing. 

"Will you be all right getting home?" he asks instead.

It is well after midnight, and Megatron is exhausted—so Ratchet, who has worked the whole day, and has the drive back yet, must be worse off. He's older than Megatron, too.

"Yep," Ratchet says, shutting down that line of inquiry fast. "Don't worry about that—just pay your bill on time."

Right. 

"Alright," Megatron agrees mildly.

Ratchet packs up and heads out in what seems like the blink of an eye, leaving Megatron with Starscream in the brightly lit stable. 

It's one in the morning.

"A cold," Megatron mutters to him. "You fucking _sook_."

Starscream snorts and noses at him. He still looks very miserable.

Megatron sighs deeply. But he puts him up in his stall and goes to get his feed again. 

* * *

By the next morning Starscream is leaking slimy clear mucous, miserably, from his nose, which is a symptom that would have been _really_ useful to know about yesterday. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked something about this one please feel free to leave me a comment here, or come see me at cardio-vore on tumblr or fascination_ex on twitter. Otherwise have a good night :)


End file.
